


Starlight

by Hannigrammatic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #EatTheRare Fest, Affection, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/pseuds/Hannigrammatic
Summary: Molly and Reba enjoy a night in.





	Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the #EatTheRare event going on at [Hannibal Cre-ate-ive](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/) ♥
> 
> Not beta read.

Silken smooth, a glide of fingertips trailing from elbow to shoulder, quiet laughter traded between sighs of contentment. The room is dark, the setting sun shielded by drawn curtains. An empty wine glass lays upended on the table, and the bottle itself is almost depleted.

“I imagine you as beautiful as the stars,” Reba whispers hoarsely, fingers stroking through soft hair now.

Molly, above, closes her eyes and tries again to imagine what it must feel like to be blind. She can do this, shut her own sight out --it’s nothing like it must really be, Molly thinks with her heart full of bittersweetness.

“Open your eyes,” Reba says, knowing. “Tell me how I look.”

“Beautiful,” Molly breathes.

She almost says _like an angel_ , catches herself at the last possible second and opens her eyes (they don’t need to be opened for her to see the beauty beneath her.)

“You too,” Reba says with conviction.

Her fingers trace Molly’s face, trailing over chin and jaw and nose and forehead, smoothing between her brows. They are both warm and snug on the couch in Reba’s livingroom. Molly’s flight had been two hours late, and they missed their dinner reservations unfortunately, but Reba couldn’t ask for much more than this. 

Molly sighs and doesn’t disagree, not even teasingly, the way she does when Reba makes her blush and turn her face away. She’s never been like this with anyone else, never built up continuously to feel precious and needed and beautiful like the stars in a night sky. Reba completes her in a way no man has, and despite their mutual acquaintance with death and the terrifying things that it brings along with it, she can’t ask for _anything_ else. She’s happy, alive, and safe.

And Reba is real; she’s not an elaborately constructed lie, made to appeal in every expected way. She’s not Will Graham, a wolf in sheep’s wool.

A monster disguised as a husband.

Despite her anger, her confusion, and the resentment borne of betrayal, Molly is grateful to have met Will. She is less grateful for the danger that had been brought on her and her son, but she knows that without those circumstances, she would not have met Reba. Reba McClane, who showed up on her doorstep in Marathon, Florida one day to tell her that she knew about Will and his affair with the devil.

A name not even Molly allows herself to repeat out loud, despite reading it in the papers almost daily.

“I wish you could stay,” Reba murmurs.

Her arms embrace Molly and draw her close. Molly marvels at the woman’s softness and curves, so very different than a man’s hard muscles. She lets her weight settle on the body below. 

Full with wine and fruit, both women are languid, tired and comfortable and content after lovemaking. Reba wants the day to draw on and on and on. She cares less and less about not being able to _see_ Molly, when she can easily make a picture in her mind aided by present exploration. She knows Molly in a way that no one can or will, on a level deep within her bosom. Her affection transcends blindness and death. 

They draw close and lock lips lazily, kissing and whispering and giggling softly, the blankets rumpled around them and falling further off of the couch.

Tomorrow, they will go to dinner if Reba can secure their reservations again. Then they will spend the rest of the week doing this, perhaps upstairs in the bedroom instead, or maybe they won’t leave the house at all. They have a week together, and they do this once every three months, disguised on Molly’s part as a business trip.

Neither have intentions of going public with their relationship; there is a mutual fear there, to admit to having something that makes them happy. For they had each felt that before, only to be fooled.

And death was not welcome at either of their doors.

“Me too,” Molly confesses.

When night folds over them, they sleep curled around each other. The stars glitter in the black sky, a blanket of lights like dots of diamonds, endless and consuming and bright.


End file.
